


Volatility

by lulahbelle



Category: Legend (2015)
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulahbelle/pseuds/lulahbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy is far from scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volatility

**Author's Note:**

> -I've been writing this since I first saw it, nothing comes out of me quick.  
> -Felt like I needed to understand their dynamic because sometimes Teddy is sweetly naive and adoring then at others like nothing more than a cynical tart I don't think I understand what's going on any better now but meh...  
> -Set after the fight between Ron and Reg although that should be obvious but I didn't rewatch the film to make sure I got the extent of Ron's injuries right...so... yea...  
> -I hope it makes sense - I've lost all objective ability to tell.

Ron hasn't left yet.

In the centre of the dancefloor, punch drunk and covered in blood, he is glaring back at the little audience of staring Kray associates and club patrons who were attracted by the fight between him and his brother. 

The stand off doesn't last long before he roars.  
  
"Well's one a you gunna help me then ya useless buncha cunts!!"  
  
The crowd keeps still, quiet and afraid until Teddy comes forth, at Ron's command at once, practically skipping in his speed.  
  
He's used to soothing Ron when he's having a time of it. Not that he gets in this sort of trouble often anymore. Most of Ron's upsets are all in his own head now, like when he hasn't taken his Stematol and starts jabbering on, all terrifying and frantic, about Nazi dentists pretending to be bus conductors in Hackney.  
  
But that hasn't put Teddy off so this can't.  
  
Staring at Ron's ruin close up he finds deep fascination in his mess. The black vinyl hair dangling in curtains free of the hair wax that once so smoothly swooped it all back, nostrils hidden by thick clogs of claret.  
  
With a quirk of the eyebrow and a dip of the head, he asks Ron if he's alright.  
  
"I have to go 'ome," Ron mumbles low and it might have been comic understatement if he had any sort of grasp on reality yet.

Teddy reaches out to his thickly suited arm, "Yea come on then."

Ron straightens up at the contact, tense, like he's about to hit him.  
  
"Eh Ron, eh, s'alright, s'only me," Teddy says, gently warm, voice soaked in smiling, in charm and distraction.  
  
It doesn't immediately convince.

For a good few seconds Ron just stares at Teddy, still and hard, unseeing. Then, like he's finally to the surface of a drowning pool, he clutches his elbows desperately hard.

  
"...My face..." Ron says, his words, already thick by nature and given extra heft by his pummelled mouth and nose, "...Is it bad...?"  
  
The answer, so obvious as to render Ron daft for asking, makes Teddy snigger explosively, "...Yea it's a real state."  
  
Ron passes that a sharp look of irritation and Teddy tinges his retreating amusement with enough regret that he doesn't immediately get a belting.  
  
"Fuckn 'urts!" Ron grouses.  
  
Teddy leans in close, confiding his amusement this time, "Well your lips split and yer nose, an' that eye don't look too normal neither..."  
  
Ron smirks but it fades as quick as it came.  
  
"Reg 'it me," Ron says, a little boy, still stating the obvious but this time whilst shaking his gory head as if unable to believe it.  
  
"I know Ron."  
  
"Me own brother though, mullered me over some tart!" He is anguished but venomous too.  
  
Teddy nods and waits, looking him in the eye. Calm. It was just what Ron needed sometimes. He was willing to be whatever Ron needed, whenever, because he needed Ron, the excitement of him, the heady power he posessed and bestowed.  
  
Ronnie grunts, easily in a state he's just as swift to reach a point of calm, even grimy with blood, he is maybe even lightly amused.  
  
Teddy understands these quick shifts.  
  
Whatever happened Teddy usually laughed in confused inability to feel much beyond excitement or amusement.  
  
He didn't know or much care what was correct. When he'd realised that was queer compared to other people it made him act up just to show that reaction off to them, then he laughed at their confusion, it's what got him called mad.  
  
Fact is nothing that happens outside ever matters too much when your mind is and has always been in a right fucking state.  
  
"Gunna come back and sort me out..." Ron asks, like he honestly thinks Ted might palm him off on someone else and fuck off like Reg had.  
  
Teddy laughs at the thought he might but in his heart sits a real feeling of righteous justice in being there for Ron when he has been deserted by everyone else.  
  
"You know I will."  
  
Ron smirks at his poofy seriousness. Teddy doesn't care.  
  
"Someone's got to, ain't they."  
  
Ron looks him dead in the eyes, a small sombre moment of affection that becomes too intense. As the awkwardness builds Teddy laughs but Ron's started looking haunted.  
  
"You know I think Reggie was trying to kill me then, he's never been that bad with me before..."  
  
"Nah Ron, it was a mess about... fact when he clocked you with that bottle it was almost funny..."

Teddy means to reassure but Ronnie turns to offense, his body tensing for violence. Skin prickling, nerves lit, Teddy feels nothing like fear.  
  
"I'll fucking slap you..." Ron says, conditions half expressed, refusing to elaborate, daring Teddy to find the limits of his safety for himself.  
  
Teddy's breath is harder to come by. Fear being a bit of excitement he shudders with oft felt exhiliration.  
  
"...Knock me out an' who's gonna clean you up?..."  
  
Risky to suggest to Ron that he needs him, pushing, cheeky, he anticipates the fireworks to come.  
  
Ron's eyes are black and depthless in his big face as he bites back hard.  
  
"I should make you lick it up..." he says, stern and threatening but made mocking by a filthy and amused awareness of the sexual perversity underneath what he suggests.  
  
Teddy smiles, on the edge of hysterics, then says playfully stupid, "The blood?"  
  
Teddys welcome of Ron's disruption, his glory in the ways Ron lives to spike up everything lain so gently by others is why he is happily Ron's boy.  
  
"Yea how'd ya like that ya lairy little cunt. All that blood, down ya gullet."  
  
"Oh I'd love it Ron, all me dreams come true," he says, less sarcasm than deviant conjoinment.  
  
Ronnie smiles back. They are their own fucking world. A complete land.  
  
"That fuckn mouth!"  
  
"Wouldn't last a week without it on your piece," Teddy says to him all swishy cheek.  
  
Ronnie looks like he wants to give him a good hiding.  
  
Giddy at the easy violence and spilt blood, the killing look Ron gives Teddy lights him a little lustful in his Italianate loafers.

He never felt more queer or odd in his life than he did with Ron.  
  
Ron could fucking end him. It'd be like a stroll in the park for him, to get those big fucking hands on a piece and carve Teddy up, or maybe just blast a fucking hole through his skull that the light would shine clean through.  
  
Being around such vicious command, even as a victim, makes Teddy feel powerful too, immortal, and he swoons with delight at the towering dizzying heights he's achieved as he always does around Ron.

Ron, always turning, shifting, never quite where you left him.  
  
Fucking Ron Kray. Fuck him. So powerful, vicious, strong.  
  
"Shut your fucking mouth up" He says, aiming a judicial finger in his direction as he rips him to shreds with his eyes.  
  
Teddy needs to get it right there and then.

Right on cue Albie pulls him by the shoulder.  
  
"What ya 'fuckin' waitin' for, the police? Fuckin' get him out of here."  
  
Able to see how jumpy Teddy is at the touch, how flushed he's gotten, Ronnie sneers, judgementally, then says under his breath,  
  
"...Little slag."  
  
Teddy laughs eagerly, anything to distract from the amped up giddiness making him want to giggle the place down and the painful pressure of his erect dick clashing with the tight closure of the stupid, posh trousers Ron made him dress in.  
  
Across the way Leslie stands, face not quite as aghast as before, watching the pair of them, not sure what to do to help.  
  
Eager to get himself home and shafted Teddy hollers over at him.  
  
"'Ere Leslie, 'elp us to the car will ya."  
  
*  
  
The night air is bracing against Teddy's flushed cheeks.  
  
Hand on Ron's back he guides him to the back seat of the chauffeured car.  
  
"Want me to come back an' help?" Leslie asks.  
  
From the body of the car Ron says, "Tell Leslie to go 'ome. I don't want 'im."  
  
*  
  
The whole way home Ron's hand is hard on Teddy's knee, squeezing the tendon, sharing his pain. The force and nastiness radiates up Teddy's thigh to his needy cock. His mouth waters everytime Ron looks across at him, even though he is mostly looking through him and out the breath smogged windows at the black velvet night.  
  
*  
  
Teddy rifles through the medicines in the bathroom edging aside the Stematol, the anxiety medications and various prescribed sleeping pills, looking for a vial of rubbing alcohol.  
  
As he does his cock pulses in his drawers. Ron had first slid right up his arse in just about this location. It's set him remembering. Ron's invasive fingers tugging down Teddy's trousers as he reached up to get the hair oil down to facilitate his pricks progress. Mouth damp and hot on the back of his neck like that fellas was in his ear earlier.  
  
Ted is a randy little cunt, especially for Ron but he has to give some attention to fixing Ron's wounds if he's to get it, so he gives his cock a rubbing squeeze, face crumpling at how painful it is and leaves the hair oil where it is for now.

Focus.  
  
Of course he knows there is some in the kitchen cupboard anyway. They've fucked all over this flat since that first time.  
  
*  
  
When he returns with the fluffy clump of cotton and the cold glass of rubbing alcohol Ron is gurning, the worst of the blood wiped away to his suit sleeve. Teddy guides him into a bare wooden chair in the kitchen, under the ornately flowered lampshade, into the light, where he can easily see and reach him. It goes both ways. Looking up, Ronnie can see and reach him too.  
  
Teddy summons false cheer to cover the unsteady urge to fucking laugh bubbling under every second.  
  
"Right, where you hurt then?"  
  
"Feels like everywhere."  
  
"Best get you naked then so we can see where to start..." Teddy laughs at his shamelessness.  
  
Ron just looks up at him offended, like he does not believe anything has ever been funny and sheds his soiled suit jacket, gathering it to hang on the back of the chair.  
  
"Take this off too..." Teddy says, mostly to himself, putting his hands to the opening of Ron's splattered shirt.  
  
Ron watches him work the buttons slowly apart inch by inch.  
  
Even with a nose obscured by gore, his stare is utterly forthright and confident, his presence full and threatening.  
  
Teddy thinks he'll break with the frenzied fear and expectation, it doesn't help the pain of his stiffy, nor does the chest revealed. Familiar. Big and barrelled. Ron is a man, a proper man.  
  
His chest and sides have some redness turning to bruises before Teddy's eyes but there is nothing to be done with rubbing alcohol there. Good. Teddy's not a happy nurse, he wants this over and done with as soon as. Then he notices a cut on Ronnie's neck, glass or something has caught him, deep but not too big.  
  
He pools the alcohol into the cotton ball and swabs the cut  
  
Ron has the smallest reaction, a quirk in the corner of his eye, an involuntary muscle jump of pain.  
  
Teddy pulls back to look at him.

His stare is murderous which, as usual, makes Teddy laugh, thrilled.  
  
"That 'urt Ron?"  
  
Ron just looks up at him, willing him, daring him. Dangerous. An animal of impulse he could have his hands round Teddy's fucking neck in a split second, on his back, throttled in minutes. It feels all dependent on Teddy. He is walking around dizzy. In danger of falling on his face but never sitting down or out at the risk, too transfixed by the sickening spin of his insides, the flare of daring freedom and impulse he feels whenever he is around Ron not to push this all as far as he can.  
  
He digs the alcohol laden fluff into Ron's wound hard and drags it deep along, opening it up viciously.  
  
Ron breathes unsteady out his mouth then, snap, powerfully grabs Teddy's wrist, like the jaws of a snake killing it's prey.  
  
It stabs Teddy in the guts with the need to come, wakes him to electric nervousness where pleasure and anticipation was making him drowsy and dreamy.  
  
"Ron?" Teddy says curious, eyes rounded, trying to look extra specially harmless and innocent instead of the lust tipsy little cunt he is.  
  
Teddy needs a smack, wants one and Ron looks at him hard, unsure where to attack first.  
  
"Tend to my wounds, boy!"  
  
"That's what I am doing!" He spits.  
  
Ron's grip squeezes painfully tight on Teddy's wrist.  
  
The somersaulting arousal built up, barrels through him, he breathes heavy in the air.  
  
Ronnie's voice takes a stern low turn.  
  
"Well my lip is cut too boy and my nose, what are you doing about them."  
  
Teddy can only stare, whole body limp apart from his dick, now the stiffest most solid weight he feels like he's ever had, his brain taken up with a filthy, opaque desire to be pressed down onto some hard surface and just rammed until he is gone.  
  
Knowing he has him, not that he always waits until he has, such was the privilege of his position, Ronnie demands.  
  
"Fucking lick 'em clean you little slag."  
  
Teddy pants, his cock perfectly risen in his trousers, drips and aches.  
  
Fucking Ron Kray.  
  
Teddy feels high, well and truly off his nut, like that one time he'd had a purple heart slipped on him.  
  
Ron's hand shoots out to massage Teddy's bollocks. When he folds into a shuddering mess of arousal with a small, weak whining pushing out between his lips, Ron pulls him close by his handful and says again.  
  
"Lick it up."  
  
The threat inherent in Ronnie clutching his balls so tightly given the damage he had done to Reggie's not an hour before excites.  
  
Leaning in he licks Ron's rough cheek where he has smeared blood from his nose and mouth, his whole body taken up by the most intense heat.  
  
He can't even taste it, all processing gone to the aching emptiness in his arsehole.

A queer thing to miss so terribly.  
  
Bending over even lower he licks Ronnie's lip clear of blood.  
  
Ronnie licks back and massages his stones and when Teddy grunts amidst his panting, Ronnie growls back animal.  
  
"My nose too boy... Clean that up too."  
  
It is heavy salt and iron there.  
  
Ron jiggles his nuts hard. "That tasty is it?"  
  
Teddy nods, weak, lolling mouth saying "Yeah", in a fluttery gasp.  
  
"You like me playing with your bollocks don't you Ted?" Ron says, his voice mocking, heaping humiliation, power and powerlessness all riding ontop of the huge steaming pile of stimulation. It fucking turns him out. He can't breathe.  
  
"Never known a bloke who liked his balls so much..." He says idly, as if to himself, then, just like that, without a hint of the threatened squeezing, softly, gently, Ron frees his hand.  
  
Punched by loss, taunted by the cruel speed with which his closely impending summit was snatched away, Teddy stays lunged over for a time, as if he can encourage Ron's hand back there by refusing to acknowledge it has left, but in time, neglected, he has to straighten up painfully.  
  
"Right, get your trousers down then."  
  
Teddy yanks them and his pants down eagerly, at once, turning to lean over the table as he does.  
  
"There's hair oil down underneath the sink," He says to Ronnie, needing to be fucked.

Slag.

As strange as people thought he was Teddy knows he is a far stranger lad than anyone could know.  
  
Ron stands up over him, hands down between his thighs, spreading them apart a bit, making room for himself, bulk to his lean.  
  
Teddy stares at the deep blackness of the world outside Ron's windows, at the lights of places far off from him as big warm hands fall close, onto him, to paw at his backside, squeezing his cheeks, enjoying their shape. Then one palm goes to sit in the bottom of his back while the blunt thumb of the other rubs behind his balls, not quite at his hole.  
  
It has echoes of the good stuff about it and Teddy's stance spreads automatically wider in welcome.  
  
Then a finger, slip sides uptowards, then over and into his hole.  
  
Teddy's teeth catch on his lip and he tries not to make noise, as he is overcome by the intensely dark sparks he gets in his balls whenever anything is roughly shoved up his arse.  
  
Ron pumps his fingers forcing the smallest noise of tight pent up breath out of him.  
  
"Little slag!" Ron says, beneath a harsh breath, using this as the spur for squeezing another oil smoothed finger into his rim.  
  
Teddy gives, open around his poking, needing it, breaths pistoning out as his cock pulses beneath him.  
  
Ron's fingers slide in and out of him, then faster, then greedy, two at a time, aggressively fucking.  
  
Ron is fucking all powerful, all man. Deadly. He is his.  
  
Teddy squirms.  
  
"Fuckn cunt," Ron says, vicious with his fingers, his voice struggling under the weight of his laboured breaths.

Teddy breathes harsh loud, "Ah."  
  
"You little slag, he says, deciding abruptly at that, Teddy can't argue, that Teddy's had enough, withdrawing his fingers to angrily unzip his fly and wrest his cock free through the opening.  
  
"Ah... Ron..."  
  
"You call me sir boy..." He says, breath sparse and furious as he pushes his prick right up into his arsehole.  
  
Teddy spreads around his thickness, greatfully pliant.  
  
"Ugh, sir..."  
  
That posh, formality swirls around the vaccuum that satisfaction makes in Teddy's brain. He dozily remembers being in approved school. How many times had he ended up being caned just for refusing to call someone Sir because he thought it would be funny not to, because he wanted to see exactly what would happen, how they would hit him this time if he didn't, how it would feel, if he could like it by laughing at it enough.  
  
When things don't really scare you, discipline is all about rewards.  
  
Ron's hands are big clamps holding down his hip bones keeping him still as he rams him without any care whatsoever. Concerned by nothing other than Ron's shoving dig in on his pleasure, as it threatens to burst into full on fireworks on every ram he is given. Knowing his force, his strength Teddy feels strongest. Nothing but being stronger, sturdier, taking it better, more open, bowed over more, moaning and wiggling more. Ron pulls on his hair, buggering him so tightly that he barely withdraws before thrusting in again.  
  
It is painful for a bit but as Teddy sags down in suffering it changes.  
  
Ron knocks at heaven's door again, then, with one almighty thrust, to the tune of him calling Teddy, or just the air around them a "Fucking cunt!", he is not just circling or against or near Teddy's satisfaction but pushing, pressing and penetrating the keenest hotness in Teddy's whole self.

His face erupts into flames, his heart works itself to arrest and he is whining now, pulled back into that joy, spot hit again and again and again.  
  
"Sir, ah, sir."  
  
Every man Teddy has ever refused to call Sir flashes through his mind, all of them hurting him for it, fucking him ontop of Ron, at his explicit command. His eyes screw up at the absolute overwhelming mix of pleasure and pain.  
  
 *  
  
He is still bent over, half naked and dreamy with coming, wet with it but practically asleep as comfortably as if he were clutching his pillow before a roaring fire beneath a huge warm pile of blankets.  
  
"Fag?" Ron asks, casual.  
  
Startled, cannily aware of danger even if he doesn't ever respond to it. Teddy surfaces on instinct, quick. Moving he finds he is sore in places he hasn't been touched.  
  
"Please..."  
  
He has barely shifted, just onto elbows to start the slow, painful process of being able to straighten up to standing and with Ron's presence feintly burning in his backside as he manages it he feels Ron looking peculiarly at him.  
  
"Alright?" He asks him.  
  
"You know I think you like it up the arse a bit more than a man should Teddy," Ronnie says, spiteful and smug.

Teddy can't motivate himself to work out what he's on about for long enough to give a shit.

Can't be Ron's boy and be easily offended.  
  
Ron laughs, then says, "Still I spose everyone's got their thing ain't they..."  
  
He pats Teddy in the bottom of his back affectionately, like he is a dog.  
  
"...Come up to bed then... we can have a cigar..."  
  
Wearily straightening up Teddy says, "...Should get you cleaned up proper..." but before he can reach for Ronnie he's away up the stairs and booming from the walls of the stairwell comes.  
  
"My fucking sheets... I wanna cover them in blood I fucking well will."  
  
Teddy smirks as he tries to pull his pants up enough to make it up the stairs. He thinks about leaving his trousers where they'd been taken off but decides against it, dragging them after him, trying to remember to fold them and put them neatly away in the drawers before climbing into bed beside Ron.  
  
Ron was so proper and pristine about his suits.  
  
Of course he had once been that way about his sheets too.

He was different since losing Ron to Frances and prison, unpredictable in ways that even he had not been, not that Teddy craved his sanity enough to care.


End file.
